The identity shell

Hello world,

Long time no see. And this post was actually not planned. I'm currently in London. Right now I am on my way to crystal palace. And it's really inconvenient - I don't want to deal with the kind of thoughts that I'm dealing with, yet once set in motion my "reflective brain" won't shut up. So I kind of have to face it. 

And it's all F's fault. Fault in a good way ^^

Some words to F because I haven't mentioned him yet. Part of me wants to refer to him as FF - I wonder if he gets the joke. Because I'm sure he is going to read these lines just as I know that M will read these lines. (M, I love you :-*) That is a really weird feeling, to know that this is going to be read by people, but at the same time it's really just for my sanity that I write this down. The fact that I am just walking and typing on my cell phone at the same time instead of taking in my surroundings and appreciating London kind of shows just how important this is to me. I really wish I could just press pause and not think about this until tomorrow when I'll be on the train for four to five hours - but sadly that's just not how it works. 

Uhm. But I was about to say something about F. I met him in a BDSM channel. Imagine me walking for a while without typing because I just don't know what to say. We've been chatting a lot throughout the last couple of days. He likes to remind me that we exchange up to 450 messages per day. So I'd say it's rather intense. Apparently he's read my complete blog or the majority of it. And he's rather sensitive and insightful and really helping. I like to mock him that he just has to help people - but I mean that in the most positive way. He's the kind of person who - up to a point of annoyance ^^ - asks those kind of questions that make you think and reflect and grow. Which is a pain in the ass. But also healthy and good and important and I'm really thankful for having met him. So that's the friend part. I'd lie if I'd say there wasn't a D/s part and that I wasn't interested or curious about playing at some point. Though I'm also already freaking out at the thought of meeting someone that I've exchanged so private thoughts with. That makes me really uncomfortable. While at the same time I want to meet him. It's ... weird. Awkward. Complicated. Whatever. 

Not the point of this post.  

So last night he was telling me about a friend of his with whom he had had a fallout. She's suffering under depression and some other mental health issues and she's been venting and whining and everything when chatting with him. Something that he's totally okay with for an amount of time. And I do believe that he's really the kind of person that you can call in the middle of the night when you're freaking out and just need someone at the other end of the line to listen to your thoughts or to tell you jokes or whatever it is that you need. After all, on some smaller level he's been that person for me already. Sometimes knowingly so, sometimes probably not. Not that I would've called him - I haven't yet. But - and this feels really weird - even though we know each other for a short time, he is one of those people who I consider messaging when I need company. Though mostly I still go with others because ... I'm uncomfortable accepting help or needing someone or burdening someone with me, basically. I'm much more comfortable turning to C - though I mostly then can 'just' distract myself from those thoughts instead of really coming closer to saving the issue. But I'm intimate with C. Sexually. Which makes it so much easier for me to accept his help or 'demand' some of his time. 

But I'm zoning out. 

So he told me about how frustrated he was with his friend because she was making unhealthy choices and even though he made several suggestions of what she could change to improve her situation, she wouldn't do any of it. And she was having suicidal thoughts. And I could hear his frustration and pain of watching someone close to him suffer and destroy her own life and he tried to help - but it was all in vain. 

At the same time I could see why she acted the way she did, though. I understood. I understand both him and her. And I tried to shred some light on her behavior for him. Not that I thought he really needed it - he's good at empathy and looking at situations from the other person's perspective. But still, I tried to explain because I'm similarly fucked up as his friend. Maybe I'm more 'lucky' to be rather reflective and to try to work through my issues or at least ... Well. I always at least try to understand why I am thinking or feeling the way that I am. Narrow it down. If I then want to or actually am able to solve it - that's not the point. But I like to know why I am as fucked up as I am and what made me be that way. And sometimes even what I can do to change it. 

Drifting again. 

So I told him about how she might - consciously or unconsciously - refuse to take his advice because she doesn't think she deserves to get better. I can relate to that thought. So very fucking much. We then drifted from her to me. 

And I made some discoveries. So far I only thought - or rather had the strength to admit - that I didn't want to see a shrink because of a) the reluctance to talk about my most inner thoughts with a professional, a stranger, and b) because deep down I didn't think I deserved happiness. That I didn't think I deserved to be well. And good. And not fucked up anymore. 

But there's actually a c. And it's a big C because it's most likely the real reason why I can't or won't change. And F made me see that. And he set the thoughts in motion so that I couldn't run away from that insight anymore. C) is, well, all about identity.  If you look back at the introduction in this blog, it says "hello, I'm a student, Wordie, etc etc etc - and I'm eating disordered". That issue is a big part of me. It's part of who I am. Part of my identity. For seven years. If I changed that - who am I then? What becomes of me? My eating disorder affects my daily life. So many things. It's a routine almost. It's ... Let's try and compare it to a dog. I'm a dog owner. It's part of who I am. And that dog is reason for a lot of missing out and a lot of work and a lot of misery, but that dog is also responsible for some good things. For having made friends - to mention Sam and Nasimyu here, or connecting with two of my dearest friends at the munches -, for some pride and a lot of positive things that are really hard for me to explain. I have some kind of love-hate relationship with this dog. And every morning I get up and walk him and feed him and cuddle him and spend time with him. Every day. For seven years. If that dog now died - even if it was a long process of going to the vet and having the opportunity of saying goodbye, or even if I decided to give that dog to another family to make this metaphor somewhat less cruel, even if I knew that the dog would be better off and that I would be better off without that dog, I would still get up in the morning and miss the routines. They'd just be gone. And what is there to fill that time? And if I met someone, I couldn't say then "Hi, I'm Kiwi and I'm a dog owner" because I am not anymore. 

And that fucking scares me. This uncertainty. This "who am I?" and "what comes next?"

That's how far F and I got last night before I shut down. It's really tough facing these inner processes and thoughts and everything. Especially without my real dog to cuddle with me and make me feel not so alone. And I just tried to run away from those thoughts and the conclusion because I just didn't want to face it. But - once set in motion - I couldn't run away. Even though I stopped messaging F, I pretty quickly came to what the issue really was. 

I remembered how I got my ED. And that is one of the toughest things for me to write down now. Actually ... I think I'm going to make a break here and run away from that confession some more and talk to M for a while to procrastinate. 

...

Alright. Talking to M didn't work out because she's at work. But I distracted myself some by talking to another friend about a guy who's messaging lots of girls in my FL friends list and who apparently doesn't consider that we - subs especially - talk. And that if someone strikes one as weird, the others are going to listen to that person. And that if one - me, in this case - invites that other person to munches for several times and really tells him about all the different munches and stuff, but he never shows up, that it'll strike the others as weird too, if they give him the same speech. That guy apparently needs someone to babysit him and take him by the hand and talk him through a munch. But none of us is willing to do that. We are all like "if he shows up we are happy to talk to him, answer questions and stuff, but he is not going to get us to date him privately and show him the ropes and go to him to a munch together". 

But enough on that. Enough procrastinating. The more I prolong this and keep running away, the harder it'll get. 

So. I remembered how I got my ED. I mean, I've been ED'ed the majority of my life. But rather in the common way of having food as a substitute for love and affection. I've always been chubby (now chubby is a real euphemism for my weight haha) and I actually can't remember a time in my life that I haven't tried to drop weight. Even as a kid. I remember lots of diets, lots of unhappy mirror moments. And I remember a lot of lines my Dad dropped on me that just made it worse. I don't want to blame him here. It's not solely his fault. This is merely me analyzing why I've become this way. Without much judgement. I let go of my anger a long time ago. And it's really not like he did it on purpose. I don't think. 

So. I cannot recall what he said exactly. But I knew that he disapproved of me eating sweets and everything - which on the one hand I did to fill this emptiness and to feel better and to, well, be loved (this is a common human behavior, right?) and then, on the other hand, I did it to kind of ... Well. In the sense of a self-fulfilling prophecy. He told me it was bad to eat sweets and that I was stupid and chubby and fat and whatnot - so I behaved in a way that proved him right. I became the worst person that he projected on me because he already showed me the worst image of myself. And he was my father and if he already didn't love me because of what he THOUGHT I was, I could just as well be that person. When someone tells you how little you're worth, well, then you might as well become that person. There's no use, really, because you can do what you wish - you're not going to change the picture that person has of you. I don't think I have to mention how fatal that is when it comes to the relationship of a child with its parents. 

So I probably always was ... not healthy around food. But a lot of kids have that. And even though it's not good, it's by far not as fucked up as a "real" eating disorder. Real as in ... worse. 

When I developed my "real" ED (and here I mean the one that orientates towards anorexia as opposed to just a disordered relationship to food), I was with my boyfriend. I was chubby. But that was it. I was 16. Trying to figure out the person that I was and wanted to be and become. Looking for my identity. And even though I was already not "normal" around food, I remember this documentary that my ex and I watched on television. I can really still see us. I know he was on the couch and I was in the kitchen. 

- I am listening to music on shuffle and "The Real You" is just playing, by Three Days Grace. How fucking fitting. Listen to that song, it's so fucking awesome. I know it'd be healthier to be self sufficient enough to not need another person to tell you that you're fine the way you are ... But ... Ugh. That song is just ... Anyways. Drifting again. -

So there was this documentary on anorexic girls. On a movement called Pro Ana. Girls who supported each other in dropping weight unhealthily, who were Pro Anorexia. And how dangerous all that was. 

I'm ashamed to confess all this. Just by the way. 

I remember firing up my laptop and googling one of the online communities mentioned in the documentary. Signing in. Introducing myself. Wanting to be part of that. WANTING to be eating disordered. As some kind of diet. Completely underestimating the danger and the impact that an ED has on your life. But also ... Wanting to be sick. As a cry for help and attention. And affection. Now I see: it was some kind of identity I could take on. 

I remember my frustration when I got denied access to the community because the girls felt that I wasn't really ED'ed. They advised me to stop  to pursue down that path, get help and drop weight healthily. They were doing the fucking right thing. But it only encouraged me to do more research and really become ED'ed. Up to the point where I really developed an ED. Throughout the years I founded my own online community. And I helped other girls. And I denied others access just like I had been denied access. It's a weird world that I got sucked into. And that I loved. It's really hard to explain. But you look out for each other. You really do. You know what the other is going through and you try to help as best as possible. You can't be gentle to your own body because you despise it. You can't love yourself. But you can love others. You can tell them they deserve better. Or you can help them achieve goals. Though it's highly unhealthy, also a lot good comes from it. 

It was a lot of time and nerves that I invested in those online communities. My ex was strictly forbidden to access my computer. I told him a girl needed some secrets. He knew I was leading a forum but he thought it was for girls only. He didn't know it was solely about EDs. He knew I was on a diet constantly and even to some level how poorly I felt about my own body, but he never saw how bad it was. Now, don't be like "he must've been blind" or something. We are really cunning when it comes to disguising that kind of behavior. When you're ED'ed, you see when another one is the same, you kind of recognize your own behavior in them. But to someone who doesn't know what signs to look for ... It's not his fault at all he never saw it. 

There was so much stress - I won't go into detail now because it's really a fucking long story - that one night I couldn't sleep. And I took my phone. And I deleted the website. The community. And I slept like a baby afterwards. This weight had been lifted off my shoulders. 

I woke up to a lot of messages of the other girls in the community wondering what had happened. I told them it was a cyber attack. I was sorry that I had taken that safe haven from them. I really, really was. I knew how terrible it was to lose it. We've been hacked several times before. It was always horrible. But I also knew that it was the only thing that was healthy for me back then. The best decision I had made in a long time. 

I focused on getting better then. I started eating according to weight watchers. I really got better. I had some setbacks. But I dropped weight. Healthily. I started to be proud of my achievements. I got better. Really. 

And then I broke up with my boyfriend. After such a long time, I wasn't only dealing with the emotional stress of being single, the pressure of suddenly having to compare myself to other girls again on the "single market", a scene that is  focused on sexuality and looks and your outer appearance. I was also confronted with myself again. Who was I? When you're suddenly single again, you have the great opportunity to focus on yourself again. No compromises. Do what YOU want. Find out who YOU are. Work towards becoming the person YOU want to be again. 

But whilst this is a great opportunity, it's also a lot of pressure and stress. Just imagine dating someone. "So, Kiwi, what are your hobbies? What do you like to do for fun?" - "I have a dog. I like to read. Music." You end up sounding like the most boring person on the planet. Especially when you're taking to guys who like hitch hiking and surfing (that seems to be the new default hobby) and have travelled to 300 countries already. And you're like "well, I've been in a relationship for 7 years". I started seeing a lot of mistakes I made. But that's fine. I don't regret the time. I intend on learning from them for the next relationship(s). 

But suddenly I was back to being the 16 year old girl that I was before my ex. Not all the way through. I was more independent of my father. I wasn't that convinced of my worthlessness than I was with 16. Things like that. Of course I had grown and developed and everything. But I was again confronted with that identity crisis. And I jumped back to someone that I was for a long time. "Hi, I'm Kiwi and I'm eating disordered." And I was both taking on that identity actively again and falling back into old habits and routines and patterns. 

Long story short: i think my ED was once and is now again an identity shell that I am "wearing" so as to not have to figure out who else I am or might be. 

That's the first insight. It's a long way now of really figuring out all the details. And an even longer way of taking little steps towards getting better. I guess one major thing would be to no longer introduce myself as ED'ed person. Which is so contradictory because I have just let myself accept that it's a part of me and that I'm never going to be another person. Not meant as in that I won't ever change but that my past is MY past and I won't ever wake up being someone else. So I mean this in a positive accepting way. 

So. I think a healthy thing to do now is both accepting my ED as part of me and stopping to identify as an ED'ed. 

I have a lot of figuring out to do. Perfect for a day in London, huh? 

I feel that this post is long enough already, and to be honest, I'm exhausted. I feel like I'm done reflecting for now. But I also know that this is just the beginning of a long process which will consume a lot of time and nerves. I hope I'll be ready for it. 

xoxo

Kiwi